The tribal chanting arose in ecstacy. The old priest knelt at Baiel's feet, offering up a chunk of glacial ice in token of brother glacier's submission.
"There is one all-powerful god!" Baiel cried. "Only one. And I, Baiel, I am his priest."
"All-powerful; the only one," the villagers responded.
It was at that point that I intervened. The tribe stared at me in bewilderment. I took one of the heaters and dismantled it.
"This was made by men," I explained. "By men like yourselves. See, this is no more than a substance like the hard veins of metal you find in your rocks. In time you can learn to make these as we do."
For a quarter of an hour I talked, patiently repeating and demonstrating the facts. But still their eyes were glazed with bewilderment and the ghosts of hidden fears. Since they had no understanding of the processing of ore, how could I explain away the appearance of the supernatural? Even when I disassembled the machine, I proved nothing except that I was tinged with godhood myself.
Baiel stood smirking, saying nothing. When I turned on him in anger, he said quietly:
"Earthmen understand reason, Theusaman." It was the first time he had dropped my title, and he did so intentionally. "These animals—this amusing burlesque of real men—I'm afraid you ask too much of them."
"I ask nothing but their right to survive and evolve, as we did."
"But they can't. Haven't you learned that yet?"